


The Baby and the Bathwater

by Schwoozie



Series: And Baby Makes Four [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abstinence, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Bathing/Washing, Body Image, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Polyamory, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4359122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth loves her body; luxuriates in it, especially when it can give her and her lovers pleasure.</p><p>When her doctor takes pleasure off the menu, however—that's when things get more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Baby and the Bathwater

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to continue this verse. This fic is set a few months after the first in the series.
> 
> Someone gave me a prompt a long long time ago for 'body worship,' and this is what came out. Hopefully it works for you :)

She's alright right up until they stop being able to have sex.

She knows how silly it is; knows she shouldn't measure her self-worth on what men find attractive, knows _her_ men would find her attractive no matter what, even if she sprouted cloven feet and horns. They made it quite clear to her when she broke the news that they aren't bothered in the least. They'll miss it, of course, but they still have each other; they can still touch her, hold her, love her like they've always done. She still catches their eyes on her when she changes in front of them; still catches their smirks when she bends over, or when she leaves her bras lying around, even the cheap new ones she had to buy to accommodate her growing breasts. Any insecurities she has don't come from them.

But still. But still, ever since the doctor told her that her painful contractions during orgasm meant it was better to be safe than sorry—she's been changing in the bathroom. Leaving the room when she hears moans begin to issue from the other side of the bed. Showering while they're at work so she can be buttoned up and armored when they come home.

She starts crying in the Juniors' aisle of Macy's, once. She comes home splotchy and miserable and goes to bed without a word.

She doesn't say anything, and neither do they, but she knows they know. They could have gotten it from Glenn; Beth confided in Maggie, which means Maggie confided in Glenn, which means one word from Daryl or Rick would have him spilling like a cracked pitcher. They could have even gotten it from Amy, out of concern for her wellbeing.

But more likely, they would have guessed. In the three years they've been together they've learned her better than she could even hope to learn herself; and it goes both ways. She sees the looks they shoot each other when she takes her clothes with her into the bathroom; notices how they touch each other less and less, even casually, when she's around. She's always preferred to suffer alone anyway, and it irritates her, sometimes, that they won't let her do that. If anything it makes her feel worse about herself, to know they're worried about her, to know their concern extends so far they won't even say it to her outright. She doesn't want her silliness to drive a wedge between them, especially not now.

* * *

She's dozing on the couch watching _American Idol_ reruns when the key turning in the lock jerks her awake. She squints at the clock on the cable box, and realizes as she does so that night has fallen.

She's seven months pregnant, living with two men, and curled up on the couch watching crappy reality TV in the dark.

She isn't even surprised when the first tear rolls into the crease of her nose.

She hears Daryl moving around in the kitchen (she knows it's Daryl from his almost-silent footsteps alone, but also because Rick pulled an all-night shift and won't be back till dawn) and pulls her blanket more tightly around herself, biting her lip hard to stifle any noise. She doesn't want to deal with Daryl right now.

But of course, she can't fool him for long. He isn't even halfway to the bedroom before she hears him stop in his tracks, feels the laser beam of his attention fall on her.

“Beth?”

The room is fuzzy through her wet and sleepy eyes, but she can easily see his shape hovering amidst the gloom—tall, broad shouldered, all its energy turned on her form curled up on the couch.

She can't quite catch her whimper this time.

Daryl only hesitates a moment before moving forward and dropping to his knees beside the couch. Beth can see the rough outline of his features, but she doubts he, even with his keener eyes, can see much of anything. She knows there is enough light to shine off her tears, though; he brings up a hand, hesitant and jerky, to brush against her cheek. He inhales a little sharply when he feels the wet beneath his fingers, and Beth squeezes her eyes shut again.

“Beth,” he says, voice low and rumbling and almost blending into the night, save the way it thrums through the air between them, “What's wrong, girl?”

Beth shakes her head. “I'm fine,” she mumbles. Daryl snorts softly, and Beth opens her eyes to glare at him. “What?”

“I meet you yesterday or something?” He slides a hand into her hair, gripping her lightly against her scalp. Beth wants to jerk away, but she can't help melting into his familiar touch. Her sigh emerges alongside a little hiccuping sob. “Tell me,” he says softly.

Feeling lulled by the thumb slipping back and forth across her temple, Beth sniffs in deeply, curling her arms in tight to her chest. She feels the breasts under her shirt—breasts she doesn't even recognize as hers anymore—and begins to cry again.

“It just...” She swallows, trying to control herself. Daryl just watches her, waiting easily for her words. “I feel disgusting,” she whispers. “Just... big and saggy and out of control, and... I dunno, I look in the mirror and it doesn't even feel like mine.”

“What doesn't?”

Beth waves a hand at herself violently, knocking Daryl's wrist in the process. “All this, my... my belly and my boobs and everything. And you...” Beth swallows, closing her eyes. “I can't stand the thought of you and Rick looking at me anymore, cause it doesn't _feel_ like me. And there's nowhere I can go to get away from it cause I'm carrying the whole... the whole _freaking_ thing inside me.” Beth sniffs again, eyes still closed, Daryl's thumb still tracing her hairline. “I just dunno if this was a good idea. I always wanted a child but... maybe I'm not meant to make one. Maybe this means it just wasn't supposed to happen—“

Daryl's hand tightens in her hair and Beth opens her eyes, breathing in little whimpers, tears running into her open mouth. Daryl is still just watching her; it's too dark to really read his expression, but she can tell by the set of his jaw that he's thinking hard.

Beth's just about to suggest they forget about it and go to bed when Daryl's hand tightens in her hair again. He leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead. He lingers there for several seconds, washing her hairline with the air from his nose before he backs abruptly away, pulling his hand from her hair to wrap around her own clenched fist.

“C'mon with me.”

“Daryl—“

“I sound like I'm asking?”

Anyone else would have thought he was being unreasonable; but Beth hears the softness in his gravelly tone, the slight question in his voice that tells her he _is_ asking; that she can stay here if she wants to, alone in the dark with herself and her fears—or she can go with him. She can trust him and go with him.

It takes Beth several moments, but she nods, slowly. Even through the dark, she can see the way Daryl's lips quirk; the way his eyes brighten as he squeezes her hand and tugs her gently up.

He leads her to the bathroom, where he lowers the toilet lid and presses her down until she's sitting. He doesn't turn the light on. Everything feels slightly dreamlike, like the world is nothing but shadow puppets playing on the inside of her eyelids. She closes her eyes, watches the afterimages shift and swirl. When she hears the sound of the bathtub going, she opens them with a snap.

“Daryl, I don't want—“

“You trust me?”

“I... what?”

“Do you trust me?” he asks. He's still looming above her in the dark, and she wonders what she looks like, what he can see of her. How far down her thighs the bulge of her stomach pushes her shirt, how her loose breasts tent the fabric. Her features swollen from crying, her hair a wild mess.

She wants to hide from him, she realizes—and she's never wanted to hide from him. Even their first time together, when it was just Daryl and Rick and their eyes as she pulled her sundress over her head, let it flutter to the floor as her nipples stood out proudly—even then, while inside she quailed, she stood with pride, knowing that no matter what she was safe entrusting herself to their gaze. And now, even in the dark, she wants to hide—and it's like a lightning flash illuminating a cliff edge inches from her toes.

Beth swallows, then nods. When he doesn't respond, she nods again, harder, saying through her scratchy throat, “Yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”

She can feel his smile in the hand he offers to pull her to her feet; she blushes when she stumbles a little, but his warm chuckle is a comfort, somehow, instead of an embarrassment. She smiles to herself, a little, and with a sniff presses her forehead against his collarbone, trying to slow her heartbeat—take in the scent of him, rustic and sharp from the day, all sweat and engine grease. She remembers the time Maggie'd been over when Daryl got home from work, before he showered; how she'd scrunched her nose when he went into the bathroom, asked Beth how she could stand him smelling like that.

Beth hadn't answered Maggie; just smiled to herself and changed the subject. Cause yeah, he does smell gross. But he also smells like _Daryl_ —wild and strong and a little bit scruffy but more full of love than anyone she's ever met, save the third member of their trio—and even at his most disgusting she takes comfort in that.

She realizes that she must not smell all that great either; it's been a few days at least since she's showered, and she feels another bubble of affection swell in her, that neither of them have mentioned it.

Daryl holds her loosely—hands on her hips, wrists brushing the swell of her belly that fills the space between them. Looking down as she is, it's all one great blob in the dark, and for a moment it could almost be seven months ago, when she didn't even realize she had a life growing inside her.

Beth sighs, turning so her cheek rests against his chest and she can close her eyes, relaxing more easily into his embrace, the running water lulling her as his thumbs begin moving back and forth. He reaches down and drags up her oversized sleep shirt until he can get his hands beneath it, span them across her bare back. Beth shivers, sliding her hand around his ribs. Her breasts have been sore all day, and her hardening nipples are just the wrong side of painful, but she doesn't shrink away from it—just presses harder into his chest, relishing the feel of him hard and whole against her.

She feels him press a kiss to the top of her head, hands roaming up to where her bra would lie were she wearing one, nails scratching lightly until she shivers again.

“This ok?” he asks, face drifting around her head until he nears her ear.

“Yeah,” Beth whispers.

She feels his breath on her ear right before he says it; when he does, she nearly vibrates right out of his arms.

“Time to get you outta those clothes then.”

Beth pulls back to look up at him. There's even less light in here than there was in the living room, but she can still see the basics—the thin line of his mouth, the shadow of the scruff around his face, his eyes cutting through her with yet a gentleness that defies such a violent word.

Beth swallows, feels his hands drifting down her back.

“You won't turn the light on?” she whispers.

He doesn't hesitate to shake his head.

“You promise?”

“Promise.” Daryl kisses her forehead again, long and sweet.

This time when he pulls back he takes his whole body with him, and Beth nearly pitches forward with missing it.

“Now strip, girl,” he says.

It isn't exactly how he would say it before sex, but it's close enough that Beth feels an answering throb between her legs. It's been so long since she felt anything like that, since she let herself feel it, that it leaves her knees a little weak.

She waits until he bends to check the water before complying—tugging off the sleep shirt, bending over carefully to pull down the oversized boxer shorts. There's a chill in the air and she shivers, crossing her arms on top of her stomach.

“We really need to get a space heater in here,” she says.

She hears the smirk in his voice when he replies. “Won't need it, soon enough.”

Beth rolls her eyes, bouncing on the balls of her feet a bit as Daryl grunts to himself and shuts the tap. He straightens and her bouncing slows to a stop. She feels his eyes on her, and even though she knows he can't see much, she feels that hot flash of shame that's been so familiar lately. She hasn't been naked in front of him in weeks.

“You, uh, gonna leave then?”

“Nah.” He ducks his chin, and she sees his eyes glinting seriously. “Can if you really want me to, though.”

Beth hesitates, then shakes her head. “No. No, it's ok.”

He nods, and pulls his shirt over his head.

Beth feels the familiar flush roll down her body, the one she always feels when one of them disrobes in front of her. It feels like a Pavlovian response, at this point; like they've trained her to crave their bodies with such intensity that the mere idea of skin is enough to leave her weak.

If he knows what's happening to her, he doesn't say anything about it; just takes his clothes off quickly and efficiently, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

He turns to Beth, and she flushes again, knowing what she'd see, were the light on—the wings of his collarbone chiseled like marble, his broad chest and lanky arms, strong thighs and the sex hanging heavy between them, half risen and bobbing. She knows that, were it Rick, he'd be stroking himself by now; shocking her past her discomfort, grinning lewdly until she laughs and reaches for him herself.

She thinks that would work for her now. She thinks, in the dark, it might. But part of her feels it was meant to be Daryl, reaching out his hand and leading her towards this.

Beth takes the offered aid and steps gingerly into the bath, wincing a little at the heat until her skin acclimates. She's a bit embarrassed by the amount of time it takes to get her down, but Daryl never rushes her; holds her in a grip steady and strong as iron as he lowers her in, lets her dunk her head beneath the surface to wet her hair before nudging her forward so he can climb in behind her.

It's not a large tub, and both of them have to bend their knees to fit, but they manage it with only a little water sloshing out the sides; and by the time Beth settles back against Daryl's chest, the weightlessness of the water has almost made her forget what she's been so upset about. She feels the familiar weight of Daryl's dick against the small of her back and sighs, rubbing her scalp against him in contentment.

“A'right?” he asks, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah,” she says, rubbing her ankle against his. “Yeah, it's good.”

He hums in her ear, pressing a light kiss to the shell of it before ghosting his hands down her arms where they float in the water before her. He reaches the back of her palms and interlaces their fingers, letting them drift a while; Beth has almost dozed off when Daryl moves, pulling her hands with his to settle over her breasts.

At this point he knows just how much pressure to use, and Beth sighs at the feeling of her own hard nipples against her palms, the way Daryl's hands fit so large and heavy over her hands. Beth tips her head back, closing her eyes as he helps her massage herself.

“They been hurting?” he murmurs into her ear. Beth hums an affirmative. “This feel good?”

“Yeah,” Beth sighs.

“Good,” Daryl murmurs. Beth can feel Daryl's dick filling up behind her, but she knows him well enough to know he expects her to ignore it for now. He can get off later. This moment is for her: her and her aching breasts that fill her own hands, spilling over into Daryl's grasp with how much they've grown; her and the way the bathwater feels on her skin, on her body, on her sore back and swollen ankles and neglected sex.

And she wants to come; wants so, so badly to come, damn the painful contractions that result, damn doctor's orders, damn everything—because she's naked in a bath with the father of her child and because she wants, for the first time in weeks, to just feel _good_.

Daryl must sense the shift in her mood, for his massage is slowing down, growing lighter, until finally they come to rest with his hands cupping her cupping herself. Beth shifts in frustration and he curls himself tighter around her; she feels his collarbones pressing in against her shoulders as he envelops her as if pulling her into a cocoon.

“Relax,” he murmurs, nuzzling her ear. “We don't gotta do nothing.”

“But I _want_ to.”

Beth feels a sting of embarrassment over the whine in her voice, one that grows as Daryl chuckles; but then he's applying gentle pressure to her breasts again, widening his legs so she slides deeper against him and he can squeeze her sides with his thighs.

“Don't gotta fuck to feel good,” he says. Beth huffs out a breath, a little incredulously, and he chuckles again. She sighs, and shifts against him, and with another kiss to her ear he slides one hand down her body towards the juncture of her legs.

“Daryl–“ Beth says in warning.

“Shh,” he says, nuzzling her temple as he drifts his fingertips across her pubic hair.

Before her pregnancy she liked to wear her hair down there short—felt nicer in her panties, gave Rick and Daryl and herself easier access when they wanted it. But since her belly grew too big to bend over easily—and once easy access didn't really matter anymore—she stopped shaving; and she shivers a little under the unfamiliar feeling of Daryl running his fingers through the fluff.

“You know I can help you with this, if you want,” he says, running his fingertips along the crease of her thigh. “Shave it.” She feels his smirk against her ear. “It'd be fucking sexy, seeing you all spread out like that. Seeing more and more of your pussy each minute.”

Beth groans, rolling her head against Daryl's chest. “I thought you weren't gonna try and turn me on.”

Daryl chuckles, knuckling at her mons, over her pubic bone. “Sorry,” he says.

He doesn't sound sorry at all. Somehow, Beth can't bring herself to mind.

“So what're we doing here, then?” Beth asks, shifting a little and feeling his dick rock-hard against her lower back. “Gonna frustrate me till I pass out or something?”

“Don't gotta be frustrated,” he says, spreading his fingers to cup her loosely, fingers dipping just into where the hair grows more sparse. “Just enjoy it. Like a massage or something.”

“Your massages turn me on too,” Beth says wryly.

Daryl chuckles again. “Ain't my fault I got magic fingers.”

Beth elbows him, and he laughs, moving his hand from her breast to her swollen stomach. The action sobers Beth quickly. She becomes aware, suddenly, of the baby moving inside of her; like it senses its father’s touch through her layers of muscle and skin.

“You feel it?” she asks softly.

Daryl hums an affirmative; still stroking his fingers across the hair on her pussy, but letting the other hand lie still; lets the baby come to him, its foot rooting for his hand like a mouth for a teat. His breath catches when he feels it. In silence, they look down at her stomach together. When the baby kicks again, directly into Daryl's palm, Beth can't help but smile.

“That's my thing inside you,” he whispers. “Mine and Rick's.”

“I love that,” Beth says softly, moving her hand from her chest to rest over his. Her fingers slide easily into the wells of his knuckles, entwining on her skin. “Knowing I carry you around all the time... that people see me and know I belong to someone... I love that.”

Daryl sighs, pressing his cheek to her temple. “Wish it could be both of us,” he rumbles. “On that birth certificate.”

Beth turns her head, trying to look at him; all she can catch is his cheek and the bridge of his nose.

“You know it can be you, right? You know Rick wouldn't mind.”

Daryl shakes his head, spreading her pussy lips a little, letting them fall back together. “Nah. More people know you're with him. Makes sense.” He's quiet for a moment, touching the smooth skin of her labia. “He has the better job, better insurance.” Daryl snorts. “Don't look like someone you ought'a keep your kids _away_ from.”

“Stop that,” Beth says softly, squeezing his hand. “I don't want you thinking about anyone else here. You think about you. If it matters then you tell me.”

Daryl shakes his head, pressing lightly on her stomach until the baby kicks again. “Nah. It don't matter. Not really.” He kisses her cheek, lips lingering on skin damp from the steam of the bath. “Don't need a piece of paper to know you're mine, the two'a you.” She feels the quirk of his mouth against her skin. “Took me long enough to know that.”

Beth snorts softly, remembering the beginning of their relationship—so much easier than she ever expected it to be, and yet so much more difficult too. They way they fell into each other, the three of them; how it spiraled so quickly from stealing kisses in the park to making love in their own bed, bodies twined together in an endless loop of skin and sweat and need. Want. Love, equally, among all of them.

That part was easy. What was hard was everything that went on beyond it.

“You deserve this, Daryl. Me, the baby, Rick. All of it. You ever start thinking you don't, you tell us. We'll set it right.”

“How you gonna do that?”

Beth gives her own little smirk, and rotates her hips, grinding back into Daryl's dick until he digs his fingers into her pussy and they both gasp.

“You're an evil woman,” he says.

Beth settles back down with a giggle, squeezing his hand on her belly. His fingers have sunk low enough into her pussy to lie against her clit; she fits snugly underneath the joint of his index finger. She can feel the blood in her clit pulsing; but not incessant. Not with urgency. Just soft, steady, there. A part of her touched by him just like every other.

“Thank you, Daryl,” she says quietly.

“For what?”

“This. Just. All of it. Always. Thank you.”

“Ain't nothing,” he says, just as quiet.

Beth arches her back against him; turns her head as far as she can without cricking her neck; presses her lips to the edge of his jaw, feels the stubble rustle with her breath.

“No,” she says, tongue flicking against his skin. “It's everything.”

* * *

They don't emerge from the water until it's gone so cold that even Beth, wrapped in Daryl's body heat as she is, begins to shiver.

Daryl gets out first so he can help her up; she giggles when she loses her balance and falls into him, prompting his own chuckle from deep in his throat. She feels light, and airy, even as her swollen ankles protest being pressed by her body towards the floor.

Daryl dries her off meticulously, running the towel along her back and beneath her breasts, dabbing gently between her legs. They don't bother getting dressed; just walk hand in hand to the bed, crawl in and curl around each other, Beth's belly held protectively in the curve of Daryl's own.

They both stir when Rick comes in, hours later; Beth feels Daryl shift, pulling them further towards his side of the bed so Rick can slip in behind Beth with ease. She feels lines of skin and a patch of fabric, and knows he's stripped down to his boxer briefs; she sighs, wriggling against him even as he freezes.

“Beth?”

“Hmm?”

“... You're naked.”

Daryl snorts, reaching out to grab Rick's hand and drag it to the side of Beth's stomach so his own arm can lie across Rick's wrist. “You sure are in the right line of work, sheriff.”

“I just mean–“

“I know,” Beth says, twisting her neck so she can see him, hovering above her. His outline swims in and out before her sleep-bleary eyes; she doesn't hold the position for longer than it takes to peck his cheek before turning around and snuggling back into Daryl's chest. “Daryl gave me a bath,” she says. “It helped.”

Rick is hesitant as he relaxes to the mattress behind her, almost as if he is worried that touching her in a certain way will launch her back into her insecurity. She smiles at his timidity; at this man, so dominant in bed and out of it, moving his body soft to keep her feeling safe.

“This alright then?” he asks, lying down with his chest hairs just brushing her back, his breath swirling against her scalp.

“Whatever you want,” Beth murmurs. She hums sleepily, scratching her nails lightly against Daryl's back. “You don’t have work today, do you, Daryl?”

“Not till three,” he says.

“Wanna cancel that?”

Rick chuckles behind her, and Daryl follows soon after, rubbing his chin against her tucked head. “Silly girl,” he murmurs.

“Well? You wanna?”

“Hmm. Yeah, I think so.” Beth feels Daryl stretch an arm across her body, hears Rick's happy hum as it reaches to envelop him too.

“Got somewhere better to be?” Beth teases.

When Daryl doesn’t reply right away, Beth opens her eyes, looks up at him. As she expects, he's looking at her. Blue eyes sleepy, but bright. Soaking up her face. Closing as he leans forward to kiss her brow.

Rick settles behind her. A car rolls by outside. Together they take a breath.

“Always, girl,” he murmurs. “Always.”


End file.
